


Oliver Queen, H.M.N.

by somewhereelse



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:46:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: AU. What happens when Oliver Queen, unfriendly neighborhood male nurse, realizes his frequent patient is none other than the Starling City vigilante?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I blame a childhood obsession with the criminally short-lived Disney Channel show In a Heartbeat. (I may still be traumatized by the lack of resolution for Val and Tyler—shipping before I knew what it was.)  
> 2\. Add ERs to the list of things I know nothing about.  
> 3\. Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon Week 8 prompt: One more time.
> 
>   
> (Look! I made a thing!)

“Do you enjoy getting hurt or something?” Oliver regrets it the moment he says it because that is so not professional and the last thing he needs is another write up. As far as he knows, excellent bedside manner has never actually saved anyone’s life.

But it’s a question that begs asking.

He’s not stupid. He’s hyper aware this woman—Felicity Smoak, D.O.B. 07/24/1989 per the chart hanging on the foot of her bed—only shows up on nights that the vigilante has been active. She’s the right height and approximate weight taking into consideration all that lean and compact muscle, has a number of scars indicating combat experience from what he’s seen on veterans, and rubs her fingers together in a nervous tick that looks like she’s rolling the string of a bow. Her late night/early morning hospital visits only happen when there’s a head injury involved, leaving him to assume that she—or some other person with decent medical training—handles her more minor wounds. Which is all just too much of a coincidence and really the only reason he’s never called the cops on her, because anyone else and he’d be screaming domestic abuse up and down the halls. But, you know, _discreetly_.

Because he’s a nurse. And has confidentiality requirements and shit.

As a former EMT and paramedic, he’s seen the worst parts of this city—the places the police won’t go, the way certain types of citizens are stereotyped and mistreated because of it. He used to rail against the system, confronting every dirty cop he ran into with nothing but sheer recklessness, until Detective Lance pulled him aside for a harsh reality check. He was getting a reputation, and dispatch was being pressured to steer his ambulance away from potentially volatile incidents. Taking this job as an ER nurse in the only hospital in the Glades was the one way he could think of to try and do some good while limiting his exposure to SCPD’s worst.

What she’s doing? Putting her own life on the line every night to confront those dark places no one wants to acknowledge exist? It’s everything he wishes he could do. So asking why she’s such a frequent visitor to his ER is a question he should have never voiced. Plausible deniability and all. Or so Laurel hypothetically cautioned him when he hypothetically posed the scenario to her.

On top of that, it violates his personal rule to always be calm and measured. He learned that the hard way when his big mouth got him sentenced to three hundred hours of community service, which the judge insisted be performed in actual service to the community and not some cushy, half-assed effort at one of his mother’s charities. So he found himself assigned as the de facto bitch for an EMT station serving the Glades. Approximately four hundred washed ambulances later—and countless hours observing ordinary people put themselves in dangerous situations for the health and safety of others—and he was a reformed citizen.

His parents were, naturally, skeptical when he signed up for EMT classes and shocked when he made it through. They seriously questioned his sanity when he pushed for his paramedic certification. They gave up on him entirely when he enrolled in nursing school—and his mother fainted when he chose the ER over any other department really, because nursing was supposed to get him away from the danger. And then there’s Thea, who still sometimes looks at him before muttering _murse_ and giggling to herself.

Somewhere during that progression, he found himself saying less and letting his actions speak for themselves. Having watched too many minor incidents escalate into tragedies, he now understands the unintended consequences of thoughtless words. He’s become deliberate about speaking with authority and phrasing his questions as directly and specifically as possible to avoid inaccurate, long-winded answers.

Which makes the unintentional and flippant question to Felicity all the more regrettable.

“Um, no?” she responds with a frankly adorable head tilt. “Why would you ask that? Have we met before?”

By the hazy quality of her voice and the absence of their usual fast-paced banter, he can tell she’s not just playing dumb. “I’ve done your intake the last five times you came in.” Oliver carelessly gestures to her chart, which is around two inches thick and the perfect example for why they need to embrace electronic health records.

She leans forward to squint at him. The makeshift bandage wrapped around her head is partially obscuring her left eye, and from the glasses in her fist, he assumes that’s not the only hindrance to her eyesight. _She must wear contacts when she has her mask on._ “Oh, it’s you. Human.”

He frowns in confusion before urging her to relax in the bed so he can check her vitals. “Yes, I’m human. A human named Oliver, who’s your nurse.” His reminder feels patronizing because Felicity knows—should know—his name. His bedside manner might be severely lacking, but he at least introduces himself to patients before poking and prodding them.

“No.” She shakes her head, and he instinctively reaches to hold her chin steady because he is not shining a penlight in her eye for fun. Head wounds generally call for concussion tests, but the way she’s speaking nonsense urges him to get there faster. “I don’t mean human like human _human_. I mean human like how you pronounce an acronym. H.M.N. Hot male nurse.”

Oliver blushes. He actually blushes. He can’t remember the last time that’s happened, except for right now when he’s inches from this impressive woman’s face and staring into her very blue eyes to determine if her pupils are the normal amount of dilated or if he needs to recommend that the vigilante take a breather for a few days. His paramedic experience makes him comfortable with administering a certain level of field medicine, but some—all—of the doctors hate when he crosses the line like that. Hence, the write ups. She’s too close to call, even if experience says she’s a quick healer, so that means her diagnosis is above his pay grade. “I just need your blood pressure then I’ll call in the doctor.”

Obligingly, she shrugs her right arm out of her gray hoodie and presents it to him. On his way out the door, her voice stops him. “Hey, uh, wait. How many times are you going to do my intake before you ask me out?” There’s a slight pause before, “Did that sound dirty? No, it was clean. I think. Weird. I usually say things in the worst way.”

It’s not the first time a patient has asked him out or slipped him her number. He’s still Oliver Queen, and that will always bring him more attention than he wants, especially when he’s just trying to do his job. But something about how she hesitated, how she’s fascinated him since she first showed up with a bad limp and bleeding forehead, muttering under her breath about overeager and underqualified muggers, how she’s probably only asking because the head wound damaged her brain-to-mouth filter, has him pressing his lips together to tamp down the giddy smile.

Feigning seriousness, he shoots her a reprimanding look. “I’d say one more time but I don’t think I should encourage vigilantes to accumulate head trauma.” Her face drains of color, and she shrinks into herself, suddenly looking years younger and infinitely more vulnerable. Not _that_ out of it then. With a reassuring smile, he lifts a finger to his lips and slips out the door.

* * *

Oliver trudges into the ER three days later for another too long shift. While he at least has a sense of purpose in his job, it’s hard not to be worn down by it sometimes. Plus, he hasn’t seen Felicity since the night she indirectly asked him out. She vacated the exam room, leaving behind a signed AMA form, while he was otherwise occupied. Although the lack of hospital visits is good for her health, he’s now worried _she’s_ worried he’ll spill the beans.

He waves to the receptionist, Cindy per her nametag and Sin to anyone who doesn’t want to clean up drunk people vomit all night, and clocks in. Sin points to a closed door. “You have a _patient_. Don’t kill me.” The last sentence is said under her breath, and he looks around for a second, wondering if he heard her right. Sin doesn’t entertain people who want to harass him for being a Queen, so whoever’s waiting in that room is bound to be _interesting_.

Oliver cracks the door open and lets it swing forward under its own weight. His lips twitch when he identifies the woman perched on the end of the bed. He’s never experienced daytime Felicity before—only seen her dressed down well after her afterhours activities—but this persona is equally as fascinating. Blonde hair in a neat ponytail, those familiar glasses framing her blue eyes, and a bright dress and heels that are in direct contrast to her utilitarian vigilante uniform. Best part of all, she’s gloriously uninjured.

“Hi,” he breathes because he can’t think of anything better to say and he really regretted the last time he spoke without thinking around her. “How’d you get in here?”

“Hey.” Her smile is tentative but warm, and she rises to her feet to approach. “Sin and I have mutual friends.” She grins when he rolls his eyes at her usual vague answer. After an almost awkward silence, Felicity gestures listlessly with her hands at nothing in particular. “You said one more intake, head trauma not included.”

“Ah, I did say that,” he states obviously. He’s bowled over by her bravery—that she would come back here after he so ineloquently implied that he knows her very illegal secret—but what else is he expecting from someone who fights crime every night? “I meant it,” he adds quickly, sincerely, when a frown starts to form. If he doesn’t pull it together, she’s going to think he was being flip, that she’s made a mistake coming back.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever smiled this widely before. “Felicity, will you go out with me?” She’s nodding before he finishes the question and he chuckles in relief. “Will you also take me to your base because I need to know what medical setup you have? _Please_ tell me you at least have a defib.”

Felicity recoils a little, staring at him with a look of disbelief. “What? Does this mean you’re in?”

“In for dating you? In for making sure you don’t die out there?” _Good_ , he nods to himself, _direct and specific questions_. “Yes to both.” _Accurate and to-the-point answer. Effective, too_ , he notes when she smiles and moves forward to take his hand. Oliver does her one better and tugs her forward the last step for a tight hug.

“I just thought of the perfect code name for you, too,” Felicity mutters into the collar of his scrubs. 

Wide-eyed, Oliver pushes her back slightly to meet her smiling eyes. “I am  _not_ answering to  _murse_ ,” he lets that sink in for a moment, “or  _human_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon Week 13 prompt: Sleepless.

“How about Fixer?”

Oliver can’t keep the scoff from escaping. “I don’t spay and neuter pets. Or clean up political scandals.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should ask Cisco. He’s good at nicknames.” 

When she trails off into awkward silence, Oliver pinches his lips together to bite back his sigh. He’s tried not to pry. More than most, he understands the value of personal information and the need to keep things under wraps. Besides, it’s barely been two months since their first date which unexpectedly ended with them making out in her secret lair. Which just happens to be in the basement of an old Queen Consolidated factory in the Glades. Felicity shrugged sheepishly when he questioned her choice, muttering that someone ought to use the space. It made more sense when he met her partner the next week, who just happens to be his mother’s bodyguard by day. 

Lots of coincidences, really.

Felicity admitted that she and Diggle had scouted the base location from QC’s unused properties. With their access to company records as an IT grunt and the CEO’s wife’s bodyguard, they’d be able to cover their tracks and throw off some suspicion if worse came to worse. The pair still hasn’t explained how they know each other, let alone embarked on this crazy crusade together, but they mentioned it predated Felicity’s vigilante activities in Starling. Instead of finding that reassuring, he was just more confused.

One thing Felicity did manage to reassure him about was that _he_ was a coincidence. She really had no idea the Queen family scion worked as a (hot male) nurse in the Glades hospital. She only went there that first night because of its proximate location to her base. And she tried to avoid him after realizing who he was, but the hospital was so understaffed that it was impossible. Felicity didn’t want to befriend him under false pretenses, worried that he would feel used and deceived if the truth ever came out, but it happened anyway. Once he let on that he knew, she called an audible and asked him out—much to Diggle’s fury, he would later learn. How this bleeding heart of a woman is the fearsome vigilante, he may never know but he’s enjoying learning her contradictions.

Like right now.

Felicity’s perched on a rooftop, waiting for a drug dealer to show up to an exchange. Just an hour ago, he listened as she menaced a low level thug into giving up the location and time, and now she’s sitting there bantering with him over a codename. He’s sure Diggle is nearby, rolling his eyes at the fluff and wishing he could turn off his comm. The computer monitors in front of him show both their locations, the blinking dots reassuring him that the team is safe. 

Well, the team that he knows about. Sometimes, Felicity and Diggle will drop names before catching themselves. He assumes at least some of those people are part of the Flash’s team over in Central City, given the way things just _appear_ in the base sometimes.

Oliver knows why they stay silent about them—those aren’t their secrets to tell—but he has so many other questions. Like where did this collection of high-tech equipment and respectable cache of medical supplies come from? He knows Felicity builds the vast majority of her field technology herself, but even the component parts cost more than her middling QC pay can cover.

His attention is called back to the present when Felicity whispers that there’s movement. Suddenly, it devolves into a cluster. For the next five minutes, all he can hear are grunts barely breaking through the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Until nothing. Just painful silence. Mindlessly, he stares at the nearly unmoving but still blinking dots on the screen. He’s too scared to speak, worried that he’ll break someone’s concentration or give away their position, so he just holds his breath.

Finally, thankfully, Diggle speaks up. “Alert SCPD.”

Oliver does just that, biting his tongue to keep from asking more questions. “Done.”

“Set an emergency route back to base. She’s injured.”

Last night, Felicity showed him how to use the program she wrote to backdoor the city’s traffic light system. He just needs to enter the start and end address, and the program would automatically reconfigure the system to green lights based on the selected tracker. But he can’t get his fingers to work.

“Oliver!” Dig barks in his ear. “Why do I have a red light?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, fumbling with the keys until he stumbles on the right combination. He doesn’t need to look to know Diggle ran the red anyway. “Done. How bad is it?”

“Gunshot wound. High on her right shoulder, almost her neck. I think it’s a through and through, but she’s losing a lot of blood. ETA three minutes.”

His brain jumps into autopilot, and his body hurtles towards the medical table. He hangs a blood bag from Felicity’s emergency stash and prays the bullet didn’t hit a major vein or artery. Or she’s likely going to bleed out in the back of the van before they even get here. Banishing that thought, he scrubs his hands, mentally prepping to operate on his girlfriend the vigilante.

There’s a solid thud against the door, probably Diggle’s boot, and after a brief glance at the monitor, he manages to hit the remote lock with his elbow, not wanting to dirty the gloves. Diggle, with as much care as he can manage given the urgency of the situation, charges down the stairs, and Oliver is struck with the realization of how fragile Felicity is. 

He _knows_ she’s tiny. He’s taken her vitals plenty of times. She’s five feet five inches, just a hair under actually but don’t tell her that, and even with all of her muscles, she’s still light enough that he can hold her up against a wall, as they discovered last week. But right now, she’s lifeless, hanging in Dig’s massive arms as he tries not to jostle her wound while setting her down.

“Oliver!”

He jumps, belatedly reaching out to take some of her weight so they can stabilize her on the table. With a deep breath, he unzips her jacket and orders Diggle to cut off her shirt.

* * *

His hands shook so hard while suturing that at one point Diggle stopped him, reminding him to breathe. It’s been hours, but he still needs that reminder.

The other man is slumped into the spare chair, dozing lightly. So lightly that Diggle flinches awake every time he so much as twitches. The heart rate monitor is beeping steadily, reading a normal-for-Felicity 44 BPM. Seriously, the first time he took her pulse, he thought she was going to pass out right there in front of him. Since she was otherwise healthy—apart from the “trauma” of being “mugged”—he chalked it up to an electrolyte imbalance and lectured her about balanced diets. Felicity accepted the lecture with barely concealed amusement, asking him questions he now realized were purposefully inane and basic. About an hour ago, she gave him a much worse scare, when she experienced a seizure and her heart stopped, and he became immensely grateful for the questionably acquired, top-of-the-line defibrillator.

“Oliver, why don’t you go home, man? Get a shower and some food at least.” Dig sounds slightly more alert as he pushes out of the chair, pacing a short lap around the medical equipment.

“You go home,” Oliver shoots back grumpily, even though he knows the man has a point. There’s nothing they can do until her body decides to wake up. They’ve been up all night, and he has a shift starting in two hours. Nurses are so thin on the ground that, unlike Diggle, he has no one to call to cover him for the day.

Dig’s only response is a knowing, tired look before he reaches for his ringing cell phone. “Hey,” he wanders towards the far corner, and Oliver tunes him out as he relays the basics of Felicity’s condition to an unknown party.

The heart rate monitor picks up slightly when Felicity struggles awake. He surges to his feet to calm her, and that process goes smoother once Diggle is there, too.

“We get them?” Her question is directed to Diggle, but she shoots him a brief smile when he hands over her gray hoodie, that he might have been cuddling earlier, after she throws off the blanket.

Diggle’s smile is faint but sincere. “We got them, boss.” Oliver wouldn’t even know. He never bothered to check the SCPD activity after Diggle came back with her. “I’m going to grab some coffee. Let Lyla know you’re awake.” He adds the name Lyla to his mental list of questions.

“Hi,” she’s avoiding his eyes, “sorry about... almost dying on you. But it’s cool that I didn’t.”

Oliver glances away from the woman he hasn’t stopped staring at the entire night, beats down the feeling that he’s about to get dumped. “Well, at least it wasn’t our first date. That would have been a deal breaker.”

Heaving a sigh, she refuses to take the out. “Oliver...”

“Hey, not right now. You need to rest,” he’s persisting in the excuse for him as much as for her, “I’ve got to shower and head to the hospital.” It’s a lie. No one would blink an eye if he showed up in yesterday’s clothes, and he has to change into scrubs anyway. “So I’ll see you tonight?”

Felicity just nods tiredly, leaning into him slightly when he bends to kiss her forehead. He would feel worse about leaving her alone in the cold, dark basement where she nearly died if he didn’t think that’s exactly where she wants to be.

* * *

It’s sheer luck that he doesn’t kill anyone today with how he’s barely functional. 

When he finally heads out, again in the grubby clothes with questionable stains that are probably Felicity’s blood, even Sin cautions him to get some rest. He doubles back from the entrance to the ER waiting room because he didn’t spot her the first time, incognito as she is: beat up sneakers, black jeans, gray hoodie, ponytail pulled through the back of a hat that was his a few weeks ago. She’s slumped sideways in a chair older than both of them, cheek resting against the fist of her arm propped on the armrest. Not even the irritated screeches of a nearby colicky baby bother her. He can’t tell if she’s waiting to be treated or waiting for him to be off shift.

“Hey,” he calls out when he’s still a step away. Oliver learned the hard way not to startle a resting Felicity—or Diggle for that matter. Once she lifts her head, blinks some of the sleep out of her eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. No worse than expected. Why? Oh right, I’m sitting in the waiting room of an ER. I can see why that would be confusing.” Oliver grins at her roundabout babble. She must be feeling somewhat back to herself. “I was waiting for you. Dinner?”

“Only if it’s Big Belly.” When she smiles, he holds out a hand to help her to her feet, politely ignoring that she reaches out with her left instead of her dominant right hand. They also ignore Sin’s super professional catcall as they walk out hand in hand.

* * *

“I’m sorry if I scared you last night.”

She’s scaring him right now. The barely concealed bags under her eyes speak to the rest she didn’t get after he left her this morning. He’s almost certain that she went into the office and probably on patrol, too, before showing up at the hospital. 

“You did,” Oliver readily admits. He’s a trained healthcare professional with a wide swath of tough experiences in bad neighborhoods. He’s seen senseless violence and truly disturbing human behavior firsthand, and it’s been a long time since his nerves were as unsettled as last night. That’s the closest he’s been to full-blown panic since Thea’s DUI. “I’ve seen you hurt before. Obviously. But that was scary. I thought you were going to—”

Felicity grimaces and hides behind her milkshake for a second. “Look, I understand if you’re... done.” Repeating the word incredulously, Oliver tries to interrupt, but she continues over him. “When you signed up for this, I’m sure it seemed like an adventure, or something. Something to break up the monotony of your day. But it’s not. It’s dangerous and weird and scary, and I never really prepped you for that because I am having fun with you. I was also ignoring how you didn’t agree to put your life on the line for some crazy mission. So you don’t have to stay. You’re not obligated to stay. You shouldn’t feel guilty about leaving me in the lurch or anything. I was doing fine before you came along, and I can go back to getting emergency medical services the same way everyone else does.”

“Are you done?” Oliver chomps on a fry while Felicity considers and ultimately nods. “Good. Because I’m not. I appreciate everything you just said, but I didn’t go into this blind. Okay? I treated you at the hospital how many times before the truth came out? I’ve been scared shitless for your safety since even before I knew about my terrible nickname.” 

Her lips twitch upwards in a vague approximation of a smile, and he counts that as a win. “I’m sure you looked into my background and know more about me than I know about myself, and you saw what I did before becoming a nurse in the _Glades_. Trust me, being a paramedic here isn’t safe either. And I’m not talking about danger in the abstract. I’m talking about the “nearly getting stabbed by a meth head while trying to treat his overdosing girlfriend” kind of danger. Why do you think I started working out so much? I’ve literally had to fight to treat patients.”

As she processes his reasoning, Felicity busts out her thinking face, forehead scrunched, lips pursed. He’s familiar with it because of how often it came out whenever she had to make up a shoddy cover story during her early visits to his ER. Oliver knows he’s made a good point. While she’s knowledgeable about the people running the illegal schemes, the step below white collar criminals, he’s experienced with the practical effects of those schemes, the common citizen struggling with drug abuse and violent criminal. It’s not something sixteen-year-old Ollie ever thought he would say, but here they are. 

“Oliver, I can’t ask you to do this.” 

He likes that response, because he can argue that response. “You’re not asking. I volunteered, remember? And I don't do take-backs. Besides, you can’t get rid of me now. I know where your secret lair is.”

“It’s not a lair,” Felicity corrects immediately. Her shoulders slump since she’s wordlessly conceded the argument to him—he doubts she’ll ever admit it—and he has to say he’s enjoying the victory. “It’s a cave.”

“Like a _bat_ cave?” Arching an eyebrow at her, Oliver wonders how far her ties with the vigilantes in other cities go. Because that Batman in Gotham sounds like a broody dick. That he wants nowhere near his girlfriend. If she still is his girlfriend.

“No!” She follows up the retort by kicking him under the table. “Like an arrow cave. Because it’s full of arrows.”

“Maybe you should leave the nicknaming things to... Cisco?” Oliver prods gently, heartened when she softens into a smile at the casual mention. “You don’t have to tell me now.”

“I know. Thank you for understanding.” When she reaches across the table for his hand, he’s slightly reassured that she’s not giving in just for now, that she’ll lock him out of the base tomorrow night and any other night he shows up.

Unlike last night on the comms, the silence is comforting. His list of questions can wait, at least for a full twenty-four hours after she nearly bled to death in front of him. They finish eating, lingering over Felicity’s milkshake which she shares with reluctance. 

“My place? It’s closer, and we both need sleep. Lots of it.” Thankfully, it’s Saturday for her, and he’s off duty for the next forty-eight hours. No matter what they get up to, they’re not leaving his bed.

“I agree entirely,” Felicity mutters, resting heavily against his side as they make their way to his car. Without asking, he knows that she, without any regard to her own safety, walked from the lair to the hospital earlier. “Oh, I did think of a codename for you. A real one. Since you rejected all my other real ones.”

“Let’s hear it,” he encourages, settling their joined hands on top of the gear stick.

With an eager smile, Felicity turns in her seat to face him. “Corpsman.”

The military reference reminds him of his conversation with Diggle while she was unconscious. About why Dig joined her crazy mission even after his honorable discharge from the Army. Because he believes Felicity’s fighting her own personal war in the Glades and he couldn’t leave her alone in it, not after everything she’d been through—that Diggle was somehow involved in everything she’d been through went unsaid but not unheard. Most importantly, he joined her because she needs someone, people like them, to maintain her conscience.

Oliver returns the smile of the woman he hardly understands but is finding impossible to imagine his life without. “I like it.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supposed to be sleeping so I can volunteer at a charity golf tournament that starts at 7 am, AKA in less than three hours. Whoops. 
> 
> Also this is officially being marked incomplete. Updates will occur as insomnia strikes.

“Oliver, this is no longer a request. You _will_ attend the fundraiser.”

Throwing his jacket into his locker, Oliver sighs into the phone. It’s his own fault for answering without looking at the screen, but he was running late and did it mindlessly. “Mom, can we talk about this later? I’m about to start my shift.”

“No, we cannot because this is the only time you’ve actually answered or bothered to return my calls in over a month.” Biting his lip, he fights the guilt. Instead of arguing with his parents over his career choice, he’s found it easier to just ignore their calls. “Even Thea says she hasn’t seen you in weeks.” Because they do things like make him feel ridiculously guilty for not toeing the family line. Especially since he _has_ been blowing off Thea. Accidentally, of course. He used to do it by sleeping through her phone calls and his alarms, but now it’s because he’s been spending so much time with Felicity—under and aboveground.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy lately.”

“I understand that but this is very important to me, Oliver.”

Right. As the patron of the Starling City Museum of Modern Art, whatever that title means, his mom’s been the primary organizer of their annual fundraiser for years. And every year up until two years ago, he’s done the honorable thing and attended. “Look, Mom, I’ll check my schedule but I can’t make any promises. Besides, it’s not like I have money to throw at this.”

Her sigh is audible over the phone. It’s how he knows he’s testing Moira Queen’s last nerve. “Monetary support isn’t why I want you there. It’d be nice to have both my children supporting me that night.”

Damn it, he hates when she plays that card. “Okay, I’ll request it off. But, still, no promises. I’ve really got to go, though.”

“Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate your trying.” He exhales in relief and goes to hang up but he should have known there was more. “Oh, son, Thea tells me there’s a new woman in your life.” More like she had unexpectedly shown up at his door one weekend and found Felicity’s bra jammed in his couch cushions, but he’s not going to explain that to his _mother_. “Shall I include a plus one on your RSVP?”

Cringing, he’s even more relieved that this conversation isn’t happening in person. “Um, I don’t know, Mom. That might be a little awkward.”

“Oliver, when you became a nurse, the one thing that made me happy about that decision was that it indicated you were maturing. Now it’s been two years, and you are nearly thirty years old. Why can’t that maturity extend to your love life? You need to stop fooling around with women that you aren’t serious about.”

“Okay, I really don’t have time for this. It’d be awkward because she works for QC, Mom, not because I’m fooling around with her. I’ll ask her and let you know. But right now, I _need_ to go.” He’s not even lying. Sin has been paging him over the crappy PA system for a minute now. In a few seconds, she’ll resort to name-calling, professionalism be damned. “Love you. Bye.”

* * *

“Are these really part of your disguise?” Oliver picks up her spare glasses from her kitchen counter, tossing them from hand to hand. He’s been meaning to ask but hasn’t found a good time.

Felicity shakes her head _no_  and snatches them from the air faster than he can blink. “I do need them to see. You’re going to smudge them. I hate when my glasses are smudged.” She mumbles the last part under her breath as she furiously polishes the lenses with the hem of her shirt.

“Sorry,” he shrugs, carefully taking the cleaned pair from her and reverently placing them on the frog statue that doubles as a holder. “But seriously you take off the hood and mask and slip on some glasses, and no one looks any closer?”

“Well, you know,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the haphazard tower of spare computer parts in the corner, “IT nerd helps a whole ton. People see what they want to see.”

He hums in agreement. That first night she’d wandered into his ER, he saw exactly what she wanted him to: an exhausted victim of a foiled mugging. Following protocol, he insisted on filing a police report, to which Felicity scoffed and told him it had already been handled. True to her word, the SCPD desk jockey confirmed the would-be muggers had been apprehended and were sitting in a holding cell. Since the police were involved, he found it curious Felicity had shown up on her own instead of being accompanied by an officer, but it wouldn’t be the first or last time SCPD fell down on the job. He would later learn from Detective Lance that the muggers had been caught when he responded to an anonymous tip and found them tied up like a Christmas present.

The coincidence put him on high alert when Felicity came in _again_ , muttering about petty criminals with delusions of grandeur. Either someone was purposefully hurting her or she had the worst luck ever when it came to muggers. Turned out he was right on both counts, as Lance unintentionally confirmed that Felicity’s hospital visits coincided with the vigilante’s “assists” to the increasingly effective detective. From there, it wasn’t a far jump to realize he’d stumbled on the vigilante’s secret identity, and it was the shortest hop to knowing he wanted to help her (and date her but she beat him to the punch on that one). 

“Besides you should see Supergirl. Her entire disguise is glasses when she’s a civilian. Doesn’t even bother with a mask or anything when she’s suited up. Takes after her cousin like that. Those Kryptonians are always so arrogant, thinking no one’s ever going to catch on.”

Felicity’s idle chatter brings a confused frown to his lips. “Who’s Supergirl?”

“Oh, she’s from Ear—” she freezes in the act of pouring them wine— “Er, a comic book.” Her cover is lame, and she knows it based on the anxious way she bites her lower lip.

Oliver cocks a skeptical eyebrow at her and _mmhmm_ ’s before turning back to his risotto. He knows there are things she still can’t— _won’t_ —tell him, including what went horribly wrong in her life that the logical response is to spend her nights dressing up in leather and tying up criminals. And he knows he needs to be patient and understanding of those limits—it’s paid off before when she introduced him to Team Flash—so he decides not to press about this Supergirl character. Not that he’d learn anything Felicity isn’t willing to share. Among her remarkable talents is an ability to ramble  _at length_ without ever revealing anything important or personal.

Startling slightly when she slips her arms around his waist from behind—he really needs to get used to dating the equivalent of a ninja—he leans back into her tight hug. “Don’t apologize.” Oliver knows what’s coming. She’s shown remorse every time they run into this invisible barrier. From what he can tell, she has a hard time letting anyone get too close to her, but he’s determined to be the first.

“Okay,” she mumbles into his back after a long moment. “Hey,” Felicity’s hands move around, groping his abs a little, “maybe we should get you a suit, too.”

The laugh bursts out of his chest as he’s overcome with fondness for her. “What would I do with that?”

Felicity spins him around with a light touch on his hips. “Wear it. Give me happy thoughts.” She laughs at the surprised sound he makes when she grabs his ass, telling him exactly what kind of thoughts she’s angling for. “It’s only fair since you get to ogle me every night.”

“Mmm, salmon ladder,” he hums contently while reciprocating the ass grab, “Maybe you and Dig should start training me in self-defense then.”

“Yes, please,” is her distracted response. “For practical reasons. But also aesthetic ones. New rule: all training must be performed shirtless.”

Oliver grins into her kiss. “Bossy.”

“You like it. And your risotto is going to burn soon.” She releases him after a firm squeeze and rounds the kitchen peninsula to get back to her laptop on the dining table.

He resumes stirring while letting his mind wander to the topic he’s been ignoring for days now. Felicity finally told him how she affords the equipment for her—their—vigilante’ing. Or at least part of how. Somehow, she’s got a list of corrupt businessmen in the city and as she takes them down, she skims a little—a lot, really, but percentages make everything relative—from what she turns over to the authorities. Technically, it’s not any more or less illegal than her apprehending street thugs with somewhat excessive force. It’s just that his family probably belongs on that list, and he’s not sure how to feel about it. Given that she’s compiled life-destroying evidence against people who’ve attended his family’s Christmas party, Oliver’s vaguely terrified of what she’ll turn up about the Queens. He knows she’ll be honest if he asks but he can’t, not yet.

“Aren’t you supposed to be stirring?”

Felicity doesn’t even look up when she asks but she does briefly glance up after to tilt a smile at him. He ducks his head, embarrassed at being caught, and focuses back on the saucepan. It’s the rare night when he doesn’t have a shift and Felicity’s agreed to not patrol under the guise of teaching him how to use her surveillance programs, so he really doesn’t want to burn their dinner. She doesn’t quite startle when he places two immaculate plates on the table but she is apparently surprised by his plating skills because she raises her eyebrows in astonishment.

“Always with the tone of surprise,” he mutters, pretending to be offended.

After a small bite and a borderline obscene moan of pleasure, Felicity smirks over the rim of her wine glass. “Did you just quote a Harry Potter movie?”

That’s a newer question mark he has: where in hell she finds the time to keep up on pop culture? Not that Harry Potter is recent, but Felicity is plenty up to date on her nerd cred.

“Blame Thea.” Oliver grins and loudly drags his chair closer to hers as she closes her laptop and pushes it away. “I think between the two of us, that I can cook is the more unremarkable secret skill.” Her mouth tightens before she forces it to relax, and he kicks himself under the table.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Now that you’ve had a few months of playing nurse with me—” her forehead lands in her palm, and she sighs at herself—”I did not mean it like that. At all. I just mean, are you _sure_ you want to continue helping me?”

“We’ve already covered this. But yes. I’m not letting you go out there without someone to patch you back up. I know Dig has some field medicine training, but that’s really not enough.” Felicity frowns at his answer, but he’s not going to budge on the point. He’s not abandoning her. “Hey, I thought tonight was about to teaching me the surveillance stuff. That way I’ll have a better idea of what kind of injuries you get and how to be prepared when you return. Tonight’s not about me stepping back.”

Felicity shrugs a shoulder in acquiescence, and Oliver draws a deep breath to prepare himself for the next question. He was hoping she’d be in a better mood when he asked this, not brooding over his decision to stay involved, but oh well. “In fact, I was wondering how you felt about us taking a step forward.”

It takes a second but then she grins suggestively at him. “That sounds intriguing. Are you asking me if you can be the one to dress in leather and tie people up at night?”

Oliver opens his mouth to shoot down her innuendo then reconsiders. “Let’s put a pin in that one. I was actually talking about this fundraiser gala that’s coming up in two weeks. My mom’s the main organizer and she’s demanded that I show up for moral support. Will you be my date?”

“Ooh, a date. Outside of the ER or Big Belly or the Arrow cave. I’m going to have to think about that one.” Felicity’s smile is so bright he barely needs a moment to realize that she’s teasing him. “Tough call. Being seen with you in public might be bad for my street cred.”

“Alright, you’re coming with me or I’m never cooking for you again.” He pulls away her plate a few inches, only to be sharply poked by the handle of her spoon. “Hey, _ow_.”

“Baby. Yes, I’ll be your date.” Relieved that had gone easier than he expected, Oliver leans in for a brief kiss. “Black tie I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, I’ll need to drop by my parents’ house. See if my tux still fits.”

“Mmm,” Felicity scoots closer, close enough to basically speak against his lips, “Can I make a request? Suspenders. Please.”

Oliver pulls back a little to regard her seriously. Maybe she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into agreeing to this, but with how efficiently she’s been dismantling the unscrupulous businesses of this city, he can’t imagine she doesn’t have an idea. “Done. But are you sure you want to do this? Meet my family? In front of the crazy judgmental Starling City society pages?”

She’s quick to reassure him. “Hey, if you can put your life on the line every night helping me, I can meet your parents.”

* * *

“I can’t do this.”

Oliver’s sitting on her porch, wrinkles in his tux be damned, leaning his head against her front door as she talks to him through the wood. It’s been at least five minutes of him trying to convince her to open the door. He’s been texting Dig a play by play since the man is already at the gala for bodyguard duties so he knows his mother is getting anxious that he’s ditched.

“Oliver, why did I think I could do this? You want me to go small talk in a room half full of people I’ve either had arrested or am trying to get arrested. Not to mention that your parents are my _employers_. This is a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s not.” It kind of is, he’s willing to admit to himself. He just wants to see his girlfriend all dressed up. “Just stick to your job and our relationship. If that doesn’t work, I’ll kiss you every time you start heading down the wrong path.”

“So we’re going to spend the entire night attached at the lips? Somehow, I think your mother is going to have a problem with that.” He shrugs a little to himself. Yeah, probably. Mom’s been trying to weasel her name out of him for the last few weeks, most likely to run a background check and spy on her at QC. “And our relationship isn’t exactly a safe topic. I mean, do we even have a cover story for how we met?”

“Easy. You came into the ER one night after getting mugged, I was charmed, and here we are.”

He can hear her offended scoff through the door. “ _I_ asked _you_ out, buster. You don’t get to be the smooth one in this revisionist history.”

“Fine. You came into the ER one night after getting mugged, I was grumpy and irritated, and  _you_ were charmed so you kept finding reasons to come back in. Once you realized I was too professional to ask you out, you asked me out.”

“That is bull hockey.” The door whips open, and he ends up sprawled on his back, the wind knocked out of him. His first view of Felicity, and she’s upside down, the skirt of her floor-length gown providing inadequate cushioning for his head. Still, she’s gorgeous.

“There you are,” he wheezes, raising a hand that she uses to jerk him to his feet. He brushes a kiss to her lips then steps back to view her in full. The strapless dress he thought was black is actually a shimmering dark green under certain light. Gloves of the same fabric extend past her elbows, leaving only her upper arms, shoulders, and neckline bare. Her sleek ponytail is a little higher than the one she wears for work, and her eye makeup is definitely heavier than usual, the black eyeliner smudging into a mask around her eyes. Belatedly, he realizes it’s a black tie version of her Arrow uniform, a perfect inside joke for a dress code where the avant garde is encouraged.

“You look perfect.” The compliment teases a real smile from her, and he steps closer to wrap his arms around her waist. Oh. The dress is nearly backless, conveniently ending right above the patch of burns on her lower back. He wondered how she was going to dress to conceal the scars she can’t explain in polite company, or rather the impolite company that would ask. “You feel perfect, too.” 

“Hmm,” she snakes a hand between them to tug on a suspender, “Back atcha. Why don’t we stay in?”

“No way. I look great. You look amazing. We’re going out.” Felicity still looks skeptical so he tugs her against his chest. “I promise I won’t leave your side. We’re going to be fine.”

“Somehow, I’ve doubts,” Felicity mutters but lets him pull her out to the luxury sedan he borrowed from his parents for the night.

* * *

Diggle meets them at the back entrance, the one for guests wishing to skip the media wall out front. His mom argued with him over that decision, but he reminded her there were plenty of photographers inside to get evidence of the entire Queen family. He didn’t need to go through the gauntlet of media outlets. Wisely, the bodyguard doesn’t comment on their tardiness but shoots Felicity a look and a raised eyebrow that has her flushing.

“Your mother is about to take the stage.”

“Thanks, Dig.” Oliver tries to button his jacket but finds that Felicity won’t release his hand. “Please tell Felicity she has nothing to worry about.”

Amused, Diggle parrots back to the woman he calls his vigilante boss, “You have nothing to worry about. It’s just like Seoul.”

Oliver watches as the reference has an immediate calming effect on Felicity. She straightens, her shoulders falling back, and her grip on his arm loosens to affectionate instead of life preserving. “Okay, let’s do this.” He’s still marveling at her change in disposition when Dig nods confidently at her and leads them to the side of the stage where his parents and Thea are waiting.

They're waylaid by women unsubtlety trying to get the scoop on Felicity, AKA the mysterious, unknown woman on the arm of the notoriously elusive Oliver Queen, under the guise of complimenting her outfit. Luckily, that debacle delays them enough that they only have time for the bare minimum of introductions before his mom has to give her opening remarks. That leaves them standing with his dad who keeps frowning at Felicity, hopefully because he finds the vigilante reference of her dress distasteful and not for reasons like he _recognizes_ her as the vigilante, and Thea who keeps punching his arm and grinning excitedly at him. They clap politely at the end of Moira’s speech, and as his dad starts to ask Felicity a question, Thea interrupts.

“Hey, why don’t I show Felicity where the bar is—I’m not going to try to sneak anything, I promise—and you catch up with Mom and Dad, Ollie? We’ll be right back.”

To his surprise, Felicity smiles and pats his arm before following Thea into the crowd. If he didn’t know better, he would say that those two already know each other. Then again maybe he doesn’t know better.

“She seems different than your usual type, Oliver,” Robert comments, pulling his attention back from watching the pair.

He gives a forced chuckle, hearing the underlying judgment in the supposedly innocent observation. “Well, isn’t that what you and Mom were hoping for? For me to make different choices?”

“My boys!” Moira exclaims as she returns with Diggle a step behind her. “Where are Thea and Felicity?”

“At the bar,” they respond simultaneously.

“Felicity knows how old she is, Mom,” Oliver reassures her when Moira glances towards the bar with concern. “That was a great speech. Nothing like the one from two years ago,” he teases, and she glares at him in reproach, knowing full well that her remarks have barely changed in years.

“Never mind that. Tell me about Felicity. She doesn’t seem like your usual type.”

“That’s what I was just saying,” his dad cuts back in as Oliver sighs, “Is this really the place for this discussion?”

His parents simultaneously raise an eyebrow at him, and he can feel Diggle’s stifled laughter. As much as the man has become a friend in his own right, Oliver knows that Dig’s loyalty lies first and foremost with Felicity. “Look. I like her, okay? If you still expect me to be out at clubs using our family name to pick up wannabe models during my downtime as an ER nurse, when I can barely find the energy to spend time with my little sister, I don’t know what to tell you. Felicity’s amazing. She’s gorgeous, she’s crazy smart, she thinks my job is rewarding and valuable, she doesn’t give me shit about my hours. If that’s not enough for you, then too bad.”

They hear Thea and Felicity before they see them, their bright laughter traveling over the other subdued conversations. “And Thea obviously likes her so...” he trails off with a shrug. The smile comes easily when Felicity hands him a glass of scotch, and he uses her elbow to pull her close to his side.

His mom’s smile is more relaxed as she peppers Felicity with superficial questions about her background and current life. But his dad...

Oliver frowns at the tight smile his dad maintains. The way his eyes flicker around the room, sometimes dropping the smile entirely before remembering to paint it back on. It’s like he’s suspicious of Felicity for more than being outside his son’s predictable type. By the lingering tension in Felicity’s posture and the set of Dig’s shoulders, they notice the difference, too.

* * *

“We have a situation.”

Oliver jumps when he hears Diggle’s voice behind them. Felicity doesn’t so much as flinch, politely excusing them from the older couple he barely remembers from QC events and calmly turning to face Diggle. He tries to look nonchalant as Dig bends to Felicity’s ear. Unfortunately, she still has her hand in his, and he can feel her grip tightening as she tenses with whatever information Dig’s imparting. He can just make out two words that mean nothing without context: dead shot.

“Oliver, you need to take your family and leave.” Felicity’s tone is steel. It throws him back into their regular nighttime activities, when the voice in his ear doesn’t belong to just his girlfriend but also to the Arrow.

“No,” he catches her hand when she starts to pull away, “Tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

Felicity and Dig share a look before the latter shakes his head emphatically. “You can’t help. This has nothing to do with you or Starling City. The only way you can help is if you take your family out of here so Diggle and I don’t have to worry about them.”

From the look in her eye, there’s no arguing with her. And from Diggle’s increasingly agitated expression, it’d do more harm than good. Against his every instinct, Oliver agrees, “Okay. I’ll wait for you back at base. Please be careful.”

Just as soon as he gives up, the large window over the museum’s front entrance shatters, raining broken glass down on the well-dressed crowd. Seconds later, more windows are blown out, followed by the large lighting fixtures hanging throughout the room. In response, people devolve into a mosh pit of panicked screams. The security staff is yelling above the melee, encouraging people to remain calm and proceed towards the exits. Felicity shoots him a warning look and then pushes him in the direction of the last place they saw his family.

Oliver stumbles through the crowd, heaving a sigh of relief when he spots Thea bracing behind a column. She’s crouched, frantically scrabbling at the straps of a shoe with a broken heel, and he rushes over to help. “Hey, I got you,” he reassures her as he bends so she can jump on his back. He catches a brief glance of Diggle directing his parents to them, and they join the stream of people heading for the exits.

“I saw Mr. Diggle go back inside to help,” Oliver offers when they make it outside to the evacuation point, a block from the museum. It’s a decent enough cover since he knows his parents won’t fault the bodyguard for his do-good nature. 

“Ollie, where’s Felicity!?” Thea sounds frantic, and it takes his parents another moment to register her question and adopt expressions of concern.

 _Shit_. “Oh, uh, she left a few minutes ago. She wasn’t feeling well but wanted me to stay. She knew how important it was to you, Mom.” There. That sounds somewhat believable. “I’m going to call her. Make sure she got out okay.” Oliver ignores his father’s skeptical expression as he steps away, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Sure enough, the call goes to her voicemail, Dig’s too. He casts a concerned glance over his shoulder at the glass-walled museum, pretends he doesn’t hear the police officer muttering about stupid vigilantes. For once, he agrees with a cop. There’s no telling what kind of trouble Felicity and Diggle just ran head first into.  

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured it was time to update the WIPs and see if inspiration shakes loose.

Descending the stairs into the lair, Oliver’s not even sure why he’s here. An hour before the end of his shift, a patient coded, and they lost him. That was the fifth death in the last two weeks from a Vertigo overdose, the newest street drug terrorizing the Glades. Felicity and Dig have been unsuccessfully trying to shut down the distribution the last few weeks. The longer they’re stalled, the broodier and  _meaner_ Felicity’s gotten. He’s always known she has a sharp tongue, but lately even Diggle has avoided speaking to her.

So, no, he’s not sure why he’s bothered tonight. Not when that teenager’s death is weighing on his conscience, and neither Felicity nor Diggle is bound to provide a sympathetic ear. On top of that, they’re still out of sync from the incident at the gala. When he finally shook off the cops and his family to make it to the lair, Felicity and Diggle weren’t speaking, both radiating anger and disappointment.

It was unclear how much of it was directed at each other.

He had vaguely tried to get some backstory but even the slightest attempt at prying was shut down without question. All in all, he hasn’t felt particularly  _wanted_ , but that seems to be a shared feeling since none of them have been acting like they want to be there. In fact, when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he realizes that Team Arrow is missing one member.

“Hey,” he greets quietly even though she barely looks away from her computers to acknowledge his arrival. “Where’s Dig?” Recently, they’d been filling the awkward silence by increasing his self-defense training. Dig says he’s improved by leaps and bounds, but he still spends more time getting thrown around the mats than he would like.

“He left for the night.” When she spins around in her chair, he notices her glasses on the table, her eyes tired and red-rimmed. “I’m not going out there tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Oliver, I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“Will you just stop it? You try to break up with me about every other week, and one of these days I might take you seriously.”

Her attempts at pushing him away increased after the gala. The last few days, though, she’s stopped, but only because she’s barely acknowledging his existence. For a guy who spent the years since his first growth spurt being chased by women of all types, Felicity’s complete disinterest is doing wonders to humble his ego. Granted, they’re all preoccupied by people _dying_ , but still.   

“That’s not what I meant. Though if you want to break up after this, that’s entirely up to you.” Oh, was that an acknowledgment that they’re in a relationship? She stops fiddling with the thing in her hands, and he can see that it’s a flash drive. “I’ve been lying to you, withholding information about... a lot. It’s selfish. You see, you look at me like I’m a hero, and I didn’t want that to end.”

“You are a hero.” His response is met with a scoff and head shake. “You _are_. What do you think that girl you saved from getting assaulted last night calls you? The guy who—”

“Stop it. You know that’s not the only thing that matters in our relationship.” Flipping the chair around, Felicity rises to kneel on the seat and wrap her arms around the headrest, putting her closer to his eye level. “You can’t stand there and pretend that just because I do good deeds on occasion, it cancels out everything else that I’ve been doing wrong. I even lied to you about knowing your sister. Do you know I met Thea before the gala?”

“Well, yeah, I figured.” Oliver just shrugs at her incredulous look. “Thea is a nineteen-year-old heiress with an attitude problem. She barely tolerates _people—_ I mean, like the entire human species—but she immediately liked you. Is excited that I’m dating you specifically. I figured there was a connection there.”

“And it doesn’t bother you? That I withheld that information?”

Oliver scoffs. “Come on. I’m a nurse in the _Glades_. I spend my days treating DV victims and drug addicts and then have to pretend I don’t know shit and send them home. You think I care that you met my sister at some point? She’s not scared of you so I assumed it wasn’t a bad thing and figured you’d tell me eventually. And here you are. Telling me.”

“That’s not normal, Oliver!” Felicity yells once she recovers from his blasé attitude. “I lie to you all the time, and you just don’t care.”

“Of course I care. It’s just that how much I care is pretty relative.” It’s true. He knows the important things about Felicity—the kind of person she is, the quality of her character, her willingness to risk herself for the safety of others. Everything else is just background noise. 

“You don’t even know why I’m doing this. Why I seem to care so much about Starling City when I grew up in Vegas and went to school in Boston. Or what happened to me that I’m _like_   _this_.”

Oliver’s not sure why this suddenly matters _now_. They’ve been operating fine for months, and he always assumed they’d get around to a heart-to-heart. There hasn’t been a real catalyst for tonight that he can pinpoint, but if she wants to push the issue, he’s happy to let her.

“Then tell me! If it bothers you so much that I don’t know, just tell me. I’m not crazy. Obviously, I’m curious. Obviously, I want to know. But if you’re going to push me away for asking questions, I’m just not going to ask.”

“Here, take it.” She waves the flash drive at him, but he doesn’t reach out for it. “It’ll explain what I was doing between MIT and here. It doesn’t explain how I know Thea though, and you should know about that.”

When he gestures for her to continue, she takes a deep breath. “Dig and I started tracking Vertigo a while ago, when it first showed up. I busted up a drug deal for an early version of it between a dealer and a bunch of Starling Prep kids. Thea was there. I didn’t recognize her at the time, but she came to my office the next day. My supervisor sent her to me because she wanted someone to disable the GPS on her phone. Your mom was using it to keep tabs on her after her DUI. I got distracted helping her, trying to straighten her out, and the Vertigo trail went cold.”

So Felicity knows his sister because she stopped her from buying drugs as the vigilante, and then went out of her way to set her on the right path as Felicity Smoak, IT guru. Does she really expect him to be upset about that? “If you think this is making me like you less, you’re crazy.”

“Don’t you see? It’s my fault it’s back and worse than ever before. I should have stopped it back then.” She bites her lip and averts her gaze, and Oliver realizes her unfinished thought. That she should have left Thea for collateral damage. 

He doesn’t really know how to feel about that. Logically he knows one person doesn’t take precedence over the many that are now suffering, but that one person was _Thea_. Felicity had no way to predict the damage Vertigo is currently causing, and he can’t fault her for wondering if she could have stopped it earlier, even if it would have been at the expense of his sister.

“Look, just... Just read that. It’ll auto-execute once you enter the password. I’m going home.”

The implication is clear. She doesn’t want to be around when he reads it because she doesn’t want to watch him leave after. Placing the flash drive next to her keyboard, she’s gone before he even registers it.

 

* * *

 

After a few minutes of insistent pounding, Felicity answers the door, dressed in one of his t-shirts and not much else. Viciously, he reminds himself to focus.

“Will you tell me?” he asks, holding out the flash drive. For over an hour, he considered plugging it in, but it didn’t feel right. Neither had leaving the cache of information in the lair, even if Diggle was the only one who would find it and presumably knew everything already.

Felicity gestures to the drive. “It’s all there.”

“No. Will _you_ tell me?” he insists, “Even if it’s not everything. Even if there’s stuff you don’t want to talk about yet. Just tell me what you can. I don’t want to... It feels too much like cheating.”

“There’s nothing on there I’m uncomfortable with you knowing, Oliver.”

“There’s nothing on here I want to read, if you can’t say it to me directly.”

“Oh for—” Felicity cuts herself off, yanking her door open further and walking into her living room. “First, you’re all “I don’t care if you’re lying to me.” Now, you won’t accept anything but uncomfortable truth.”

“Do you trust me?” Felicity doesn’t answer, obviously to spare his feelings, and he can admit that stings. Still, he persists because this is important. “I mean obviously you trust me to put you back together when you’re hurt and to not go to the cops. But do _you_ trust me?”

The clarification doesn’t seem to help. He knows she hears the implied question. The vigilante relies on him, but does Felicity Smoak, the woman underneath all the figurative and literal masks, trust him? On some level, she must, or else she wouldn’t have given him that flash drive, but it’s a different thing to say words out loud to a living, breathing person.

“I’m starting to.”

His breath leaves him in an audible  _whoosh_ , and Felicity cocks an eyebrow that tells him he’s being dramatic. That answer is far more than he expected, and he’s going to hang onto it with a death grip. “Okay, well, I’m going to trust you to tell me whatever you’re comfortable saying out loud. And will you at least trust me enough to not leave after?”

He’s seen enough impromptu therapy sessions and procedural television shows to recognize that Felicity has abandonment issues on some level. Diggle is always careful to tell her when he’s leaving and expecting to return, and he noticed that she breathed easier once he started posting his work schedule next to her monitors. He thinks she’ll feel better if he can somehow reassure her that he’s not leaving, no matter what she tells him.

“You have no idea what you’re agreeing to,” Felicity mutters, eyeing him skeptically when he maintains his perfectly calm composure. “Okay, then,” she sighs, and he pulls her over to the couch.

“Wherever you want to start,” he nudges gently then settles in to wait.

“From the beginning, I guess. I was recruited out of MIT to work for a government agency, ARGUS. Super top secret stuff. It’s where Dig and I met. I was just supposed to be a computer monkey, information gathering and cybersecurity. But I got sent into the field once, and of course, it went sideways. ARGUS doesn’t _retrieve_ its agents, so I ended up abandoned on a supposedly deserted island in the North China Sea. I was supposed to die there.”

Oliver can’t hide his sharp inhale but he heeds the warning look Felicity gives him. She seems to reconsider what she was about to say next before continuing. This time, he works to contain any negative reaction that might give her pause.

“Long story short, I got rescued by this ragtag team of a former Chinese military officer and an Australian mercenary. They’re the ones who trained me in archery and hand-to-hand combat. Eventually, I found myself back with ARGUS as a field agent, and that’s when I acquired _other_  skills. About a year ago, I negotiated my release and took up a “normal” life.”

He nods absently, absorbing the story. Her expressions and pauses indicate even that short summary has been heavily edited, beyond what she had maybe rehearsed. He wants to pry for more details but knows that won’t end well so he switches topics, sort of. 

“Can I ask why Starling? You mentioned I don’t even know why you chose here, and I’m pretty curious. A different decision and maybe we’d never meet.”

Felicity’s mouth twists as she takes in the question. He can tell she wasn’t expecting it and hasn’t rehearsed an answer. “My father, actually.” Right. The source of her abandonment issues. Felicity mentioned in passing one day that she’d been raised by a single mother, and Oliver’s been doing his best to catalogue the rare personal details Felicity lets slip sometimes.

“He abandoned us when I was a kid. Growing up, I figured he was just a deadbeat, but then I found his file at ARGUS. Apparently, he’s an international cyberterrorist wanted in twenty-two countries.” Her sharp laugh is all bitterness and resentment, and Oliver instinctively reaches for her hand. “Before that, he was a run of the mill huckster here in Starling while he built up resources. A lot of the corruption and white collar crime that’s going on now? That’s crippled the Glades and turned it into a nightmare? He helped set most of that into motion fifteen years ago.”

“So I came here, hoping I could undo some of his damage. Make up for it somehow. But when I got here...”

“The damage was too much,” Oliver finishes with a grimace, “The cancer was too deep-rooted. You couldn’t treat the symptoms because it needs to be cut out at the source.”

It makes sense now. Why Felicity’s mainly targeted the Starling City elite and only focuses on the street crime in her “spare” time. Why she would have gotten a job at QC, one of the largest and _oldest_ companies in the city. Why she’s so skittish about anything having to do with his family.

“Exactly,” she breathes in a sigh of relief. “I... I have a list of my father’s known and suspected associates from back then. It’s what I’ve been using as a starting point.”

“Is my family on it?” Oliver asks the question before he can stop himself. It’s been eating at him ever since the gala, when Felicity admitted that part of her nerves was walking into a room full of people she was trying to get arrested. If everyone his family knows is potentially corrupt, what are the chances his parents _aren’t_? 

When Felicity doesn’t answer, he fills in the gaps, “About fifteen years ago is when my dad took over as CEO. It’s also when QC started its major growth phase. If they didn’t turn such a high profit in those years, there’s no way QC would have the market share it does today.” The knowledge comes back to him easier than he expects. All those years of family history lessons at the dinner table didn’t go to waste, it turns out.

Felicity can’t hide her cringe. “Your father is a _suspected_ associate. He’s not high on the priority list, but ever since we... started, I haven’t looked deeper. I’m not avoiding it, really, just hasn’t come up lately.”

He makes his decision in half a second. “You should. If my dad or someone in my family made our fortune at the expense of everyone else and deserves a “You have failed this city”, then you should find out and give it to them. I know you won’t do it unless it’s deserved. I trust you to do the right thing.”

Felicity’s kissing him before he realizes it. It takes him longer than he’s willing to admit to fumble his hands around her waist and really reciprocate. When they separate, there’s an extra sheen of moisture in her eyes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lies after a long moment. He knows it must be something he said, about trust and the right thing. It’s probably been a long time since someone’s said those words to her. “If I look into your family, can I trust you to still be here?”

The question costs her. A lot, based on the way she’s rubbing her fingers together.

“Of course. Always,” Oliver answers immediately. With a deep breath, the rest of his thoughts rushes out of him, “I’ve had my own suspicions. And Dad—well, he was weird about you at the fundraiser and I don’t know. He’s been calling me more lately, about coming to work at QC, when usually he lets Mom bug me about being the family disappointment.”

Felicity’s teeth sink deeper and deeper into her bottom lip until she breaks. “He looked up my employee records. What? It’s just a little alarm on the server. NBD. I figured he was checking up on his son’s girlfriend. But that’s not it, is it?”

“No,” Oliver bites out tersely. That’s definitely not a good sign. “Again, that’s more my mom’s play. I at least get where she’s coming from. I’ve always... dated... a certain... type of...”

Felicity rolls her eyes, and Oliver’s relieved by the small return to her usual personality. “There is no good way to phrase that phase of your life. Just get on with it.”

“Oh, fine. Mom’s always known how to put up with my girlfriends and how to get rid of them when she got fed up because they were always the same type of girl. But you’re different, in a _good_ way,” he’s quick to add on before she can draw a wrong conclusion, “and that makes her uncomfortable. You’re not—and I’m not—going to let her scare you away. For once, she doesn’t hold the power so she’s on the defensive a little. Maybe more than a little.”

She tilts her head in thought before deciding it makes sense. “And I can deal with your mom trying to passive aggressively assert her dominance. But your dad...”

“He’s being weird,” Oliver agrees. “He’s never cared what I do. I mean he cares to the extent that I’m alive and breathing and all. But even when I was a drunk asshole, he’d just laugh it off and pay for it to go away. Boys will be boys and everything.” Felicity rolls her eyes at the stupid excuse. “He’s never really taken an interest in the girls I date, barely even when Laurel and I were pretty serious. So it’s just suspicious, I guess.”

A thought suddenly occurs to him. “You think if my dad knew yours, he recognized you and that’s why he’s being shady?”  It’s a long shot but weirder things have happened in his life. Case in point, his entire career path.

Felicity levels him with a skeptical look. “Do criminals exchange personal details like that? Like, I’ve got a great idea on how to destabilize the energy grid, and how’s little Suzy doing in kindergarten?” Regaining her seriousness, she shakes her head. “Smoak is my mom’s name. And I don’t think I look like him much. Not that I really remember what he looks like. But Mom’s never mentioned it and she would have.”

Oliver can only imagine how much of a handful teenage Felicity was. He doesn’t envy Ms. Smoak at all for the trial that was singlehandedly raising a stubborn genius with sarcasm running through her veins. But based on her rough tone and deep frown, he knows her mother’s comparisons of Felicity to her father weren’t favorable. Likely in the heat of an argument after a long day with her maternal defenses already wrecked by Felicity’s scathing tongue, she’d let slip a disappointed “You’re just like your father.” 

He can’t fathom the scars that’s left on her heart, how much worse it got when she found out about her father’s criminal activity. To the point, he’s only just beginning to understand how amazing she is to have overcome it all and be here, atoning for crimes her father probably never thought twice about. He never stops being impressed by her.

Before Felicity can sink deeper into her self-loathing, he leans forward to gently kiss her. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Slowly, she nods her agreement, and he counts it as a small victory.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm reminded of why I write fluff and not plot.

The knock on his door surprises Oliver, and he approaches it cautiously.

His apartment isn’t exactly in the Glades, but it’s close enough that he worries about Thea and Felicity coming and going when it’s dark out. What? Thea’s snark isn’t really a defense against physical attack. And his girlfriend might be a kick-ass vigilante, but her alter ego is a twenty-something corporate lackey and that’s usually who she’s dressed as when she visits his apartment. Unfortunately. He shouldn’t have put a pin in her offer to have him be the one dressing in leather and tying her up.

When he looks through the peephole, Oliver barely manages to suppress his groan. He doesn’t want to see his father now, especially not when Felicity’s so close to unearthing the details of Robert’s relationship with _her_ father. He contemplates not answering and pretending he’s not home, except that gets shut down pretty quickly.

“These walls are paper-thin. I can hear you breathing in there, Oliver.”

Flipping the locks, he pushes a tight smile to his face to greet his dad.

“You look terrible,” is Robert Queen’s frank observation before he invites himself in. “And this place isn’t much better. You really should reconsider having Raisa send over one of the housekeepers every week or so.”

“Hi, Dad. What a surprise. Come on in. I’m well, thanks for asking. How are you? How’s Mom?” Oliver rattles off the rote pleasantries sarcastically.

If his father were less mannered, he would roll his eyes at his son’s sass. Instead, Oliver’s hit with the full brunt of his dad’s “I’m so disappointed in you” glare. Man, that’s early in the conversation for that look, probably a new record.

“I’ll cut to the chase, Oliver. I don’t know how much longer your mother and I can tolerate this lifestyle. Don’t get me wrong. We’re pleased that you’ve finally found initiative and something you’re passionate about, but it’s—you’ve—grown too reckless and too dangerous lately. This cannot continue any longer.”

Oliver yawns into his closed fist, partly out of boredom towards the conversation already but mainly out of exhaustion. “Sorry,” he shrugs when his dad lifts an offended eyebrow. “Is this about Vertigo? Because, I don’t know if you saw the headlines, but the vigilante took down Count Vertigo last night.”

Hence why he’s so exhausted.

Oliver was manning the mobile flu vaccine van when Felicity finally figured out the common denominator in the distribution pattern of involuntary Vertigo injections. And since he was standing in the damn thing, his gut reaction was to destroy the laced vaccines, mainly by chucking them down the nearest sewer grate. The Count must have had eyes on the van because the next thing Oliver knew he was being held hostage by the whack job. Felicity and Dig only needed a mere hour to track and rescue him, but the experience was more tiring than he would have guessed.

He’s really not equipped for yet another showdown with his parents about his career choice.

“The vigilante,” Robert scoffs. “Now I know you’ve spent too much time in the Glades. Otherwise, you’d have enough sense to call that menace what he is, a _criminal_.”

Oliver frowns but stops from jumping to Felicity’s defense because that’s a can of worms no one wants to open right now. At least his dad, like much of Starling City, is still operating under the wrong assumption that the vigilante is a _man_. People see what they want to see, he supposes.

“Dad, is there something specific you want to talk about? Or new you have to add to your pile of reasons of why my entire life is a mistake?”

“I was hoping that your relationship with Miss Smoak would have helped bring you to your senses, but it’s been a few months now and there hasn’t been any progress.” Frustrated, Robert shakes his head. “If this relationship can’t even serve that purpose, I wonder if it’s at all worthwhile.”

Oliver gawks at his dad for a few seconds, jaw hanging open, before he narrows his eyes in offended confusion. “What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?” He ignores the disappointed look for his language.

“I’ve looked into your Felicity and I’m not convinced she’s the right woman for you. But given that she is, by all _known_ accounts, a normal, law-abiding citizen, I was counting on her influence to draw you away from the Glades.” Robert gestured dismissively at the cramped but serviceable apartment. “I can’t imagine any sane girlfriend would want her boyfriend living and working where you do when he has the means to improve himself.”

Ignoring the comments about their compatibility—the only girlfriend his parents approved of was Laurel and that’s because her ambitions tracked with their expectations—Oliver shakes his head in denial. “Felicity doesn’t just understand why I work in the Glades, she’s _also_ supportive. Which is more than I’ve ever been able to say about you and Mom. She’s not going to “draw me away from the Glades” because she has no desire to.”

“Hmm. I wonder why _that_ is.” Oliver almost misses the comment his dad mutters under his breath, but his eyebrows raise at the suspicious tone. “Fine. Regardless of your girlfriend, I’m serious about this, Oliver. It’s time for you to stop this nonsense and come home. Your mother and I let it go on for this long because, again, it was the first thing you’ve ever committed to and it was good PR for us. It’s admirable that you want to help the less fortunate, son, but you can make more of a difference at QC. We’ll find a position for you, one where you won’t be risking your life every night.”

“Dad, I’m serious about being exhausted.” Oliver works hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. While the disapproval of his girlfriend is new, his job has been a constant battle ever since he accepted the position. “I’m not going to come work for QC, and I’m tired of arguing with you and Mom about it every time I see you. If I ever change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Oliver, you’re not listening to me. You _cannot_ stay in the Glades. It is dangerous, and you will get hurt, and I’ll never be able to live with myself if something happens to you when I could have prevented it.”

Up until now, their argument has been routine, but this is a sudden turn. Oliver isn’t expecting to be grabbed by his shoulders and literally shaken. For the first time in Oliver’s entire memory, his dad sounds desperate and _scared_ , no longer the confident, and sometimes haughty, man he’s always known.

“Dad, _what_ is going on? If there’s something happening in the Glades, tell me. I need to be prepared. I mean, I need to prepare the hospital.” Reaching up to knock away his dad’s hands, Oliver grabs his cell phone. Did he miss an alert? From Felicity and Dig? Or work? The screen doesn’t have any notifications, and he turns back to find his dad looking defeated and suddenly old, weary with sagging shoulders.

“If you’re not going to listen to me, will you at least keep your sister away from here? Oliver, I understand you want to help people, but please, _please_ don’t try to be a hero. You’re no good to anyone dead.”

With those foreboding words, his dad gestures a bit uselessly then yanks the front door open. “I love you, son,” Robert tosses over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Oliver stares at the empty doorway for a minute, still completely confused by what’s just happened. Blindly, he hits his speed dial, speaking the second he hears the click of Felicity answering. She’s trying to ask if he wants sushi for dinner tonight, but he interrupts.

“Hey, uh, I think something really bad is about to happen in the Glades.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you have on my dad that you’ve been avoiding telling me about?”

Based on Felicity’s guilty cringe, he knows there something. Might not be vital to their mission and so she’s omitted it up until now, but he doesn’t have the luxury of believing the best of his father anymore. Not when he came to his apartment, intent on trying to save his son, but clearly dismissive of the many other lives in the Glades at risk of being hurt by whatever’s got him so scared.

“I’m serious. The man actually came to my apartment, which he swore to never step foot in, and looked seconds away from dragging me out of there against my will then told me that if I tried to be a hero, I’d probably wind up dead. He even warned me to keep Thea away. _Something_ is going on, and we need to figure out what. Who knows what could help us.”

Dig nods along in agreement, and Oliver’s grateful for the backup. For all the former Army officer could be sensitive and insightful, he also doesn’t give a shit about Oliver’s feelings weighed against actual lives. “Anything could be a clue, Felicity,” Dig prompts, and she cringes again.

“Okay, but don’t blame me for your nightmares. Robert Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated, took the company to prominence in the late nineties, early naughts, and also conducted multiple affairs with company employees.” Felicity’s braced, squinting at him through one eye, when she says the last part.

“Son of a— For fu— You’ve got be kidding me. Really?” Oliver scrubs his hands over his face. He knows his parents don’t always have the happiest marriage—his mom’s far too uptight to be someone satisfied with her life—but he never imagined _cheating_ , as naïve as that made him. God, he’s going to be sick, but he can’t. Not right now. “How bad?”

“I found multiple NDAs and what looked like essentially hush money transactions. I’ve been looking into this one woman who seemed to have more reason than the others to be disgruntled.” Felicity taps away at the keyboard for a second, pulling up a photo of an attractive brunette with, if he’s being honest, dead eyes. “Isabel Rochev. After being fired from QC, she spent some time in Moscow perfecting her corporate mercenary skills and is recently back stateside working for a company called Stellmoor International. Kind of dead ends there.”

“Okay, how about outside of mistresses?” he spits out with disgust and bitterness. Maybe that helps explain why he was such a terrible boyfriend to Laurel back then. No, he’s pretty sure he was just a piece of shit all by himself. “Anything else shady?”

“Mmm. There’s something going back to when him and my dear old dad were suspected associates, actually had to do with this here factory, former factory I guess. The city council almost didn’t approve it, and Noah was brought in as a “consultant.” A Councilman Goodwin who voted against its opening went missing and was declared legally dead a few years later after they failed to find a body.”

His stomach heaves again, and Oliver presses a fist against his mouth as he swallows hard. First, adultery, and now possible murder? Is there anything his father _won’t_ do?

Noting his distress, Dig sends him a sympathetic look before picking up the questioning. “You think Noah was the cleaner?”

“No, he’s too highbrow for that,” Felicity reaches for his free hand, giving him a comforting squeeze, “Even back then, he didn’t seem to do any of his own dirty work. Doesn’t mean he didn’t have it _handled_ it for your dad.”

The disgust in her tone is clear. Great. If there’s one thing he really wants to have in common with his girlfriend, it’s the unshakable belief that their fathers are capable of great evil.

“So how would my dad get connected with Noah? If you think _your_  father’s too highbrow for dirty work, you can bet my inheritance Robert Queen doesn’t do his own.”

“That’s what I’ve been working on. I cross-referenced the people on Noah’s list of associates with your family’s business and personal connections. One name jumped out at me. Mainly because he went underground for a few years after his wife was murdered in the Glades.”

“Malcolm Merlyn,” he immediately guesses. The man was once _Uncle_ Malcolm, but after those missing years when he effectively abandoned Tommy to the Queens, Oliver never felt comfortable calling him by that term of endearment anymore. The person who returned hadn’t been the person who left, and it’s not a stretch to think that Malcolm became acquainted with criminal elements during his unspoken of sabbatical.

“So what do you want to do now? Pay Malcolm a visit?” Dig presses. The other man looks a little rattled, and if there’s one thing he’s come to trust since working with him and Felicity, it’s John Diggle’s gut. He’d say Felicity’s instincts, but she runs head-first into danger way more often than he’s comfortable with. Dig at least appreciates the concept of caution.

Felicity, for once, hedges. “No, I want to do some digging at QC first. Given how out-of-the-blue this all seems, it’s probably a safe bet that whatever they’ve planned has gone undetected. Maybe they got sloppy and left a trail somewhere in their emails or I can find a clue in one of the collaborations QC and MG have going.”

“That’s a good idea,” he’s quick to agree, unable to hide his relief that Felicity is, at least this time, choosing to avoid the more dangerous path.

“But hurry,” Dig chimes in, reminding them of the potential for catastrophe.

 

* * *

 

“I got it!”

If the exclamation isn’t enough, Felicity’s fist raised high in the air would alert him and Dig to her sudden revelation. And he means _sudden_ , because just a second ago, she was passed out in front of her monitor bank and he was considering carrying her to the threadbare cot in the corner. They both rush over as she blearily pats around the desk for her glasses.

“Unidac Industries.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, and Dig contemplatively hums, telling him the other man recognizes the name, too. “QC bought them at that auction a few months back, right? I was on duty for Mrs. Queen that night,” Dig explains for clearly his benefit. Oliver gives a slight nod of thanks.

“Correctamundo,” Felicity mutters, clicking her mouse rapidly to pull something up on the screen. “They were bankrupt, and basically the only value was their IP portfolio because all their R&D was dead-in-the-water. Way too early stages for anything to be viable without burning piles of cash, which, to be frank, QC doesn’t have to spare.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I’ve been skimming through the financials and I’m no accountant, but money—like millions—mysteriously goes missing. QC’s actual accountants are pretty good at papering it over as normal business losses, which I’m sure some of it is, but with the access I have, well, not _all_ of those projects exist or existed for as long as claimed. One of those falsehoods included how long QC’s kept Unidac’s old projects alive.”

Oliver can’t always follow Felicity’s babbles but this time he thinks he’s got the gist of it. “You think they pretended to keep Unidac projects alive to cover up where that money was really going?”

“Yes but not exactly. When you look at the accounts, it seems like the projects they picked were pretty well-rounded. A couple mil in windmills, a couple in microchips, etc. But I think it was all funneled into one project. An—full disclosure I know our lives are a little comic book-y but this really takes the cake—earthquake machine.”

“An _earthquake_ machine.” Oliver’s glad that Dig has injected enough skepticism for both of them into the incredulous repetition.

“Hear me out,” she staves them off, finally pulling up a set of schematics on one monitor. “So the Markov device was originally intended for... research. What hellscape are you trying to research by artificially reproducing the shifting of tectonic plates?”

“ _Felicity_.”

“Hey, that’s not entirely off topic. It’s kind of the entire point. All the money QC has supposedly been using to R&D old Unidac projects has gone straight into this device, which, by the fact that all it does is create earthquakes, could only be used for nefarious purposes. Anyway, the thing I just got is that all that money? Is like half of QC’s R&D budget. There’s no way they can paper over that kind of misuse of funds. What I’m checking now is where the extra cash might have come from and if I’m right...”

Oliver and Dig share a look. It’s not that Felicity has a flare for the dramatic—aside from the whole “You have failed this city!” catchphrase—but the timing of her revelations leave a lot to be desired. Impatiently, they wait for another fist pump.

“And I’m right. The funds are allocated from the joint venture capital with Merlyn Global. And that alone might not be suspicious but—”

He jumps in to finish. “Aunt Rebecca was murdered in the Glades, and Dad wants me out of the Glades like something really bad is about to happen. Like natural disaster bad?” What seemed like a bad dream and a blind leap is starting to sound more and more plausible. An earthquake in the Glades? Has that ever happened before?

“And there’s a note in the file dated last week that the prototype was successfully tested. Which is fast, like _really_ fast, in the R &D world. It was the day before your dad stopped by your apartment. The next day he emailed Malcolm about the successful test.”

“Well, that’s pretty damning,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s circumstantial,” Dig counters. Oliver would think Dig was only trying to make him feel better, but Felicity is nodding in agreement. “And even if we’ve against all odds landed on the money, we still need to know more details.”

He shares a look with Felicity, and she silently confirms his line of thinking. For some reason, he still needs to say it out loud. “You need to talk to my dad, and he needs to be _motivated_ to tell the truth.”

 


End file.
